


The Aftermath is Secondary

by meet_me_in_samarra



Series: Wretched and Divine [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Punk, BAMF John Watson, Casefic if you squint, Doctor John Watson, Hand Jobs, Horny John Watson, Horny Sherlock Holmes, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insecure John Watson, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Pining John, Public Sex, Punk!lock, Punklock, Seductive Sherlock, Sherlock Being Sherlock, don´t copy to another site, the infamous "Misfit" club, toilet sex, tongue kink, very short refractory periods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21562396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meet_me_in_samarra/pseuds/meet_me_in_samarra
Summary: Will Doctor Holmes and Doctor Watson really go on the agreed date in the infamous punkrock club "The Misfit"?Will their sexual tension finally be resolved?Is it really going to be dangerous?And will Sherlock really wear the promised fishnet top? (Oh God, yessss!)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Wretched and Divine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553941
Comments: 70
Kudos: 69





	1. Insecurity

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to "Wretched and Divine"  
> can be read without knowing part one but I think you might miss some fun respectively not get some ongoing quips

Three days had gone by since Dr. John Watson had licked diagonally over the ear of the infamous heart surgeon prodigy Dr. Sherlock Holmes as he had him pressed against the wall near the hospital´s side entrance and accepted his invitation on a date in the notoriously dangerous punkrock club “The Misfit“.

Three days had gone by without receiving so much as anything like a blip from the insufferable man whom he had tried to treat for a deep laceration above his eyebrow but instead had found himself to be utterly infatuated with the rude punk menace.

Three days had gone by with John having to think permanently of the highly seductive man who had seemed to be aroused himself by John´s dominant behaviour in equal measures. In fact he had panted for air and his normally iridescent eyes had been clouded by lust. At least that was what John meant to have seen.

And yet.

No word, no text, no note, no call, no letter, no email, no carrier pidgeon, no _nothing_ from the stupid git and John doubted.

He had had to resort to imagine all kinds of scenarios which included Sherlock´s plush lips closing around and sucking at… _things_ …and John´s hands stroking Sherlock´s… _thing_ …and these long delicate surgeon´s hands closing around and stroking John´s… _thing_ …and so, well, frankly speaking, John had never wanked as often in three days ever before.

It. Just. Sucked!

Like it really, severely, desperately, hatefully, devastatingly _sucked_!

Because noone _sucked_ John´s… _thing_ …and because John wanted to suck at Sherlock´s… _thing_ for real and not only in his wet dreams. Since Saturday night his imagination was running so wild that it interfered with his work.

The humiliating fact was that Captain Doctor John Hamish Watson, hardened by serving in the RAMC in Afghanistan, surviving countless assaults in a warzone, saving countless soldiers´ lives while being under heavy fire and generally acting like a real _motherfucking badass_ was reduced to the state of a pathetic whining milksop because he was pining over sodding Dr. Holmes and painfully longed to be a _sherlockfucking_ badass.

John had come to the conclusion that the core of his current unnerving dissatisfaction and confusion was that he felt like having been fooled by Sherlock. Like the all-observing _God of Deduction_ had played with him as a kind of retaliation to the toerag-incident which still sickeningly churned in John´s stomach. The heart surgeon had nearly been successful at making him come in his pants in front of the hospital and as it seemed he was now deliberately ignoring him.

John would definitely not ask around where Sherlock was or, may God forbid, even ask someone about his phone number. That would draw too much attention to why John seeked him out since actually nobody really liked Holmes because he was obnoxious and abrasive and impolite and deduced the hell out of unsuspecting people.

Tomorrow would be Wednesday and a day off and afterwards John would be on day shift including the coming Saturday. The date was scheduled on Sunday evening. If it took place at all. God, he really hoped it would take place. Otherwise he might be suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome soon due to all the frantic wanking. Thinking about wanking he could already feel his member hardening again.

Normally the outlook of a whole day off for himself was a source of joy but this time John only dreaded the endlessly going on hours with nothing to distract himself from his constantly simmering desire to press Sherlock against a wall again and _at least_ snog him senseless. To fuck him senseless was also an option that might be considered as desirable. Which was a blatant understatement, of course.

On Wednesday John decided to binge-watch some of his favourite Bond movies but the titles of the films always reminded him of sex: Goldfinger, Thunderball, The Man With The Golden Gun. Even worse, John´s overheated brain changed the titles to porny ones like: You Only _Come_ Twice, For Your _Cock_ Only and The _Mouth_ Is Not Enough. John ended up even more horny than before.

Dr. Sherlock Holmes had been constantly horny since Saturday night and absolutely hated it. He could not get the handsome, sturdy, kind Dr. Watson with the beautifully ocean-blue eyes and the strong warm gentle hands out of his mind. He especially could not get John´s tongue out of his ear. Well, the feeling of it. It had been glorious. John had accidentally found an erogenous zone there.

Why had he let himself get carried away and invited John on a date to a sodding punkrock concert? Sherlock did not invite people. Especially not on dates. That had been a bad idea. A very stupid one. John had literally flinched as Sherlock mentioned “The Misfit“. John believed that only complete crackpots went there willingly.

Who would date him anyway? They all were fawning over his looks but as soon as he opened his mouth they either ran away or told him to piss off. And he really understood that. He was not likeable or nice. He was not even social. He saw too much, he said too much and he was far too intelligent (it was not his fault that apart from his brother Mycroft nobody could match his mental capacity). He was quite used to scare the living shit out of people.

But as John had him pressed against the wall in front of the hospital he had nearly come in his pants. He hated being set back to the carnal state of a fourteen-year-old because teenagers scared the living shit out of him.

Maybe he was delusional to think that John was actually interested in him and most probably Sherlock had misread John´s reaction as attraction that evening as John had licked his ear. God, it was such a distraction from work and from his usual emotionless confident self.

The humiliating fact was that Dr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, brilliant medical prodigy and the best heart surgeon in England, feared by everyone for his superior deductions and acerbic tongue which eviscerated people in the blink of an eye was reduced to the state of a pathetic whining milksop because he was pining over sodding Dr. Watson and painfully longed for John´s tongue eviscerating _him_ but not in a verbal way.

Sherlock had come to the conclusion that the core of his current unnerving dissatisfaction and confusion was that he felt like having been fooled by John. The usually kind A&E doctor had deliberately acted like he was aroused by Sherlock and felt attracted to him as a kind of retaliation to the toerag-incident. Sherlock had let John believe he was just a random punk and had goaded him into the insult and afterwards John had been deadly embarrassed. 

“Toerag“ still made Sherlock chuckle because it had been a refreshingly imaginative and extraordinary expletive. And now John was deliberately ignoring him. No message whatsoever from the stupid git and Sherlock doubted.

Sherlock had tried his very best to ignore the permanent itch in his groin and to distract himself with working more than ever. He had even lowered himself to willingly do surgeries below a five. Dr. Greg Lestrade, the chief of the A&E and the heart ICU, had perplexedly looked at Sherlock and had actually asked if everything was allright with him. Sherlock had lied through his teeth and spun a wild story of needing evidence that continuous monotonous standard surgery was interfering with his manual dexterity which made Greg´s eyebrows disappear into his salt-and-pepper coloured hairline.

Of course, Greg did not object because they were always short on personnel, especially now that Dr. Anderson was on sick leave. Rumour has it that the cruciate ligament rupture he suffered from had happened during a sexual encounter with Sally Donovan, one of the nurses in the ICU, and not as Phillip stated while he was preparing for a half-marathon. As if the berk would even be able to jog 100 feet without running straight against a lamppost!

Anyway, the incident proved that sex was _dangerous_ which led Sherlock back to his current predicament of still being randy like a buck rabbit and the increased workload did not help _at all_.

On Thursday, Sherlock decided to clarify wether there would be a date or not. He was sick of waiting and not knowing what was going on. To be insecure. To feel vulnerable. To be dated or not to be dated. That was the question.

On Thursday Dr. John Watson had found himself wanking into his hand in a supply closet between a broken arm and a case of pneumonia in the late afternoon of his day shift when finally deliverance in the form of Dr. Sherlock Holmes himself descended from the ICU heavens to bless his pious worshipper with his presence in John´s office.

This time he was dressed in casual black, jeans, t-shirt and a suit jacket but wore his combat boots again. A single silver chain with a scalpel pendant that adorned his swan-like pale neck and several rings on his fingers and of course the facial piercings were the only reference to his punk attitude.

“Hello again, Captain“, he rumbled and glided into the room with catlike grace.

The sound of his deep sensual voice sent prickling shivers down John´s spine and immediately brought his cock to standing in attention. He felt the palms of his hands becoming sweaty, saliva pooled in his mouth and his heartbeat sped up.

_Oh God, I´m so fucked up. Merely being in the same room with him gets me close to the edge like a shallow-brained teenager._

“I just wanted to clarify if we would be meeting on Sunday evening and since I was just heading this way I thought I´d pop by.“ Sherlock pronounced the “p“ with a plopping sound at the end.

John looked at the object of his last several dozen wanking sessions and was surprised to see a shy hesitation in these beautiful eyes. The way Sherlock verbalized his question was so very formal and stiff that John thought it was like an application for a job. Was Sherlock nervous?

_Couldn´t be, could it? The man is the epitome of brazen rudeness and all-observing confidence but he actually is, isn´t he?_

His voice was a bit unsteady, he did not look at John´s face, he slightly shuffled his feet and held his hands folded behind his back which made his whole posture rigid and defiant.

“You´re nervous“, John said and beamed.

Sherlock snorted indignantly, “You have an unprecedented talent for stating the obvious.“

“And you have an unprecedented talent for stating the rude“, John retorted.

Sherlock actually flinched. He hunched his shoulders and visually retreated into himself.

“OK, I´m taking that as a no“, he turned on his heels and reached for the door knob, “Good bye.“

“No!“, John exclaimed.

“What now?“, Sherlock did not turn around and left his hand on the door.

“No, it´s not a no!“

“But is it a yes?“

John sighed, “I did not hear _anything_ from you since Saturday.“

“So did I.“ Sherlock mumbled.

“Oh.“

“Yes, _Oh_!“

“You really thought I´m having you on?“, John asked feeling quite incredulous about the vulnerability in Sherlock´s whole demeanor.

There was no reply. Only the shrugging of hanging shoulders.

“Look at me, you git.“ John demanded.

Finally Sherlock turned and faced John. His eyes were wide, hopeful and fearful at the same time.

“It would not be the first time someone was mocking me and using my lack of social perception against me.“

John had the instant urge to hug and comfort the stupid man.

“Oh, Sherlock! I´ve been waiting the whole time for you to bring the offered leather jacket. I thought _you_ had reconsidered!“

Thick, sudden, golden relief flooded Sherlock´s brain. It felt like the rush of cocaine but without its toxicity. He drowned happily in it. He had not been mistaken at all. John _had_ waited. _For him_. That was unheard of. Novel. Fascinating. His heart thumped heavily in his chest. Maybe he should run an ECG? There could be something wrong with his rhythm?

“Er, well, good…to know…that you still…want to…have me, um, go out…with me. Then. On a…date.“

Sherlock _blabbed_. He never blabbed. He also never lost control over his phrasing ability. John´s eyes were scrutinizing him and they were soft and blue and he lost himself in them. He marginally registered that John had asked him a question. It did not get through the dense haze of infatuation which currently preoccupied his brain. Because that was what it was. Sherlock suddenly realized with equal amounts of terror, relief and excitement that he, _Sherlock Holmes_ , was actually on the best way to fall in love with John Watson.

Sherlock blinked several times in quick sucession as he tried to process this amazing development and focused on the soft lips and the sliver of tongue that licked over them. John was always licking his lips. Why did he not lick over his ear instead? That would be very welcome indeed. He already did it once. Maybe Sherlock could lick back?

“Sherlock, are you OK?“, John had a slightly concerned look on his face.

“Yes, yes, fine. I´m fine. All is fine. Why shouldn´t I be fine?“, he even repeated his own words now. The end must be near. “What did you just say?“

“I asked why you thought I wouldn´t like to go out on a date with you.“

“Oh, John! Do I really have to spell it out? I´m quite aware that most people don´t like me and I wondered if you were sorry to have agreed going to that infamous club with me.“ He ruffled a hand through his unruly curls tangling them further and still insecure about what to say to not fuck this up.

“I´m not most people“, John smiled benignly. It was like the sun rising and chasing away all the darkness in the world.

“You´re stating the obvious again.“ Sherlock´s voice sounded condescending but he fondly smiled back at John and looked at him with unconceiled adoration. The best part was that the Captain mirrored his expression.

“So when do I get it?“, John really longed to touch those glorious curls and feel them between his fingers. He wanted to dip his nose into them and inhale their scent. He wanted to rub his cheek against them. He wanted to wake up to them being splayed over his pillow.

Sherlock actually stared dumbly at John. “Get what?“

“The leather jacket, you nutter.“

Good God, the notorious acerbic Dr. Holmes was actually puzzled by the fact someone would willingly date him. The brilliant man was befuddled and utterly cute in that state of mind. John was perplexed that it was even possible to get this extraordinary brain short-circuited so spectacularly by the mere declaration of _liking_ him.

It was at this exact moment that John realized he had fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes. He could only pray that he would drown in the ocean full of sentiment he felt for the ridiculously adorable man in front of him.

_Please God, let me love. Him._

John wondered if Sherlock was flustered now by _this_ what would his brain do while having sex? Hopefully it would not completely flatline. Maybe it would not recover from _that_? Or perhaps implode. Even worse explode. Think about the mess that would make in the bedroom.

“Oh, that. Meet me at 6pm at 221b, Baker Street. You´ll get your outfit then.“ Sherlock had regained his usual aloof voice but his eyes shone with a deep fierce glow.

“OK. Make sure you wear that fishnet shirt you promised“, ordered John in his best commanding voice which made Sherlock blush. It was captivating and John wished he could snap a photo.

“Make sure you bring your promised dog tags“, retorted Sherlock before he slipped out of the room and left a deeply blushing John behind.


	2. Anticipation

Thank God it finally was Sunday afternoon!

The days had dragged by in a flow of endless mostly stupid cases in the A&E and John longed for another massive accident or an explosion or a fire or anything with a bit of a thrill to it instead of all those boring patients with broken ankles and minor lacerations or some feverish airway infection.

John had even considered shooting at the wall in his flat with the illegal firearm he had managed to smuggle in from his days at the RAMC out of mere frustration and unresolved sexual tension.

After a last frantic wanking session in the shower he grabbed the bag with the combat boots and his army fatigues to take a cab to Sherlock´s flat. He was already wearing his dog tags which comforted him with their cool metal pressure against his chest. The prospect of going with Sherlock to a concert in that notoriously dangerous club after dressing up in combat gear (and a goddamn leather jacket) (Sherlock´s goddamn leather jacket) and not knowing what the rabid punk crowd there was up to made him brim with excitement. He felt like preparing to enter a warzone. And what a glorious feeling _that_ was.

John had wondered a lot what Sherlock´s flat would look like but could not really decide what to expect. It would definitely not be post-modern bleak industrial style. In the end he refrained from expecting anything at all considering the conundrum of Dr. Holmes´ personality.

When John arrived at 221b fifteen minutes early he found a note tucked under the door knocker reading “Get in. Upstairs. Door is open. SH“ in a nearly illegible scribble and did just that. Upon entering the main room he heard clanking noises out of the bathroom.

“Hello John. I´ll be out in five minutes. Be useful and make tea in the meantime.“ Sherlock called in a muffled voice.

If any other person would have told John to _be useful_ as a guest and to make his host tea he would definitely have told them to go fuck themselves and given a lecture in proper hospitality. But this was Sherlock being his usual rude self and lecturing the man about anything would also be utterly futile so John complied. This way he had the opportunity to get an undisturbed look at Sherlock´s belongings while the tea water would be heating up.

The flat was a wild array of odd objects, mismatched used furniture from various decades, raging wild wallpapers, threadbare rugs and dusty curtains. Clutter occupied every level surface. Books and papers everywhere, a human skull on the mantelpiece besides a pocket knife thrust deeply into the darkened wood. A mummified bat in a showcase. A preserved human heart in a glass vial. An antique pair of handcuffs dangling from the horns of a bison skull on the wall which wore headphones and had the anarchy symbol painted on its forehead in red. The wall behind the scuffed leather sofa was a collage of concert photos from various punk bands pinned to it. A violin sat on a stand. And so on and so on. It was too much to grasp at one time. It did so fit Sherlock´s vibrant and complex personality. Layers upon layers all waiting to be carefully put aside to see what lay underneath.

John liked Sherlock´s manic eclectic style instantly. It looked like a cross between the den of a deranged cannibalistic serial killer and a nerdy punk music loving bohemian. Disturbing and intriguing at the same time. Just like the man himself.

Making tea proved a bit more difficult as John would have imagined due to the large chemistry set which occupied the kitchen table and left no place for anything else and the simple fact that obviously a person who only used the kitchen for performing disturbing experiments but never for any real cooking had arranged the utensils in the cupboards and drawers meaning having created a total mess of things.

John had to search for _everything_ , starting with the mugs (he found them besides a breakfast bowl with coagulated blood and really hoped it was not human), the spoons (in a tin can behind three petri dishes with various colourful furry mould cultures on the kitchen table) and the tea-bags (they were stuffed into a silk persian slipper in a drawer). In the same drawer was also a cocked mouse trap which nearly trapped John´s fingers as it went off.

Thank God John was not the squeamish type (army doctor in Afghanistan, remember?) or otherwise he would have been running to the hills right now.

John was still wondering what the hell six mummified earthworms (one had a green satin ribbon wrapped around its middle) were doing in the sugarbox and where the original filling had gone to as he heard the sound of naked feet padding into the kitchen.

“Hello, John. Lump sugar is in the barf bag up there.“ At the sight of John´s disbelieving stare and raised eyebrow he added quickly “I assure you it´s absolutely safe.“

John giggled, put two lumps in each mug and handed one to Sherlock who leant against the kitchen table clad in a flowing dark blue dressing gown. A fragrant wave of sandalwood and honey emanated from his still slightly damp curls. But what really caught John´s eye was the spectacular blue and purple shiner which disfigured the left eye below the still vivid red but well-healing laceration above the eyebrow.

“Jesus, Sherlock! What happened to your eye?“

_Has he been punched again? It is a really bad bruise and…_

“Huh? Oh, that. Just relax, John! That´s the trademark of the fans for “You should see the other one“. Do you like it?“ He smiled proudly at his aptitude for applying stage make-up.

“Urgh! That´s looking really ugly.“

Sherlock beamed, “Excellent, that´s how I would have it. Want one too?“

John visibly shuddered, “Heaven forbid. I´d look like a deranged nutter with that.“

“Your loss. I think it would emphasize your lovely deep blue eyes.“ Sherlock closed his mouth with a sudden snap and blushed heavily. His glance went sideways as he fiddled nervously with the sash of his dressing gown. “Um, I have to get dressed“, he mumbled and than fled out of the kitchen, leaving his tea behind. And a stunned ex-army doctor.

John just stared after him. Had the usually eloquent and acerbic Dr. Holmes actually just become coy after he had uttered a compliment without thinking and now felt bashful? The man was such a surprise! A hot wave of affection ran through John and pooled in his groin as a smoldering urge to press himself against the endearingly shy man. Who would have thought that inside the aloof and rude bastard was in fact an insecure and vulnerable person?

John felt an erection building up. It would soon become a problem if Sherlock continued to be so utterly cute and lovable. John decided to visit the toilet before they went to the club. He could always use his need to change into his combat trousers and shirt as an excuse for a prolonged stay there.

Thinking about wanking again John went to sit in a comfortable chair with a Union Jack pillow to sip his tea and waited eagerly for Sherlock to emerge out of the bathroom. What would the promised fishnet top look like? John was sure it had to be a magnificent sight.

And what a glorious sight Sherlock was! It threw John for a loop and he could only stare at the man standing in the doorway who looked punk like hell, gorgeous like heaven and sexy as fuck. Sexy as a boatload of fucks. Just to be precise.

This time the heart surgeon wore skin tight red tartan jeans ripped at the knees and with several black zippers adorning his lean thighs which he had opened to let his milky skin peak through when he moved. The black scuffed combat boots had returned as well as all of his previously worn studded belts, chain necklaces, leather bracelets and silver rings. When he moved he jingled softly.

He had dyed bright red highlights into his unruly curls which made his head look like emitting sparks of fire. Black eyeliner emphasized his slightly slanted eyes and contrasted beautifully with his pale bluegrey irises.

The best piece of his wild outfit was without any doubt the tight fitting black fishnet shirt he wore on his otherwise naked smooth marble torso. The pierced nipple was in plain view and John felt his mouth salivating. He had to swallow, licked his lips and felt his cock getting painfully hard.

_Good God! I´m not gonna survive the evening already hard like a rock. Someone so beautiful and sexy and brilliant should not exist. At all!_

“You´re wearing eyeliner“, John blabbed.

_Urgh, witty and eloquent as ever. He must think I´m an utter idiot. But compared to him practically everyone is so it shouldn´t really matter…_

“Yes. And?“

“Er, aren´t you afraid it makes you look gay?“

Sherlock looked at him with an indignant expression. “Just because I´m wearing eyeliner doesn´t mean that I´m gay.“

“But you are. I mean. Gay.“ John stuttered and felt like a moron again.

“Yes, obviously, but that´s merely a coincidence“, Sherlock snorted and continued, “Good God, John, if you don´t want to be seen with a gay man wearing eyeliner because it embarrasses you just say so.“ His bright eyes got clouded by hurt and his formerly soft and open face became a blank mask of studied indifference.

“Fuck, no! I´m not ashamed of you. I was simply…surprised“, John backpedaled. „I´d never be ashamed of being your date. I mean, you´re gorgeous. You´re brilliant. You look so sexy in that fishnet and thinking of you in the last days had really driven me crazy with desire and…“

And then the best thing in his lifetime happened as Sherlock rushed towards him and crashed his lips against his in a desperate yet gentle kiss and John could feel Sherlock´s tongue licking slightly at his lower lip in an effort to gain entrance. So John opened his lips and let Sherlock explore his mouth. The surgeon did it reverently and meticulously examined every tooth and every nook of John´s oral cavity he could reach.

John inhaled Sherlock´s scent: musky and male, honey and soap, sandalwood and ambergris. Sherlock´s breath came intermittantly through his nose and felt like the hot breeze in the desert of Afghanistan on his skin. He carefully let his right hand wander through the lusciuos curls to finally feel them and was not at all surprised to find them silky and springy and soft.

John´s other hand found the fishnet fabric on Sherlock´s chest and he groped around to find the nipple piercing and squeezed it a bit, gently not to hurt but to stimulate and Sherlock moaned in a way he would never have thought to be possible. Lascivious and shy and saintly all at once and then he felt long thin arms encircle him so devoutly and cautiously like John was a thing made of precious porcelain and to be broken by the meekest of touches.

John´s breath hitched and he felt tears of joy prickling in his eyes because it was a miracle that such an exquisite creature like Shelock would even like someone as average as John and he drowned in the touch and the _oh so gentle_ stroking at his nape with a large and violin-calloused hand and he wished he could stay forever like that entwined with a trembling and insecure and adoringly vulnerable Sherlock forever.

Sherlock let go of John´s mouth and looked him deep into the eyes and he exhaled such a content sigh as someone who finally came home after a long and cumbersome journey. “John“ he breathed before burying his forehead in John´s neck.

John moved his tongue and licked across Sherlock´s ear and started to nibble at the earlobe which got Sherlock to moan exquisitely at the mere sensation of being caressed like that.

Sherlock felt worshipped and appreciated like never before in his life and knew he would give anything to John, he laid himself open for John to be loved or discarded and awaited John´s judgement with a frantic tremor running through all of his body and if he would be rejected he knew he would just die but if he would be accepted he knew he would unhinge the world for the love of John Watson until eternity.

After what seemed like months of kissing and scenting and caressing each other they pulled away but still held close to their bodies.

“I think I´ve fallen in love with you“ they said at the same time while searching the other´s eyes for confirmation if the feeling was mutual. And God how mutual it was.

“I´m just an inch away to come in my pants“, John admitted and felt extremely stupid about that.

Sherlock recoiled, “Oh. John. I didn´t mean to make you uncomfortable. I´m sorry I got so carried away and…“

“No! Don´t you ever feel sorry for turning me on. You hear me?“ Sherlock nodded sheepishly. “I want you. All of you. But we´ll take it slow. OK? I don´t want to rush something so precious.“

Sherlock nodded again, “I want you too, John. I don´t want to loose you. I´m not very good at relationships“, he added somehow defeated.

John swallowed, tried to compose himself and grinned, “You´re very good at kissing so I think it´s a promising start.“

Sherlock relaxed instantly and beamed at the smaller man before letting him out of his embrace. He harrumphed and tried for his usual aloof demeanor but failed completely.

“You should change now. I´ll get the leather jacket.“

John went into the bathroom, did a quick hand job to relieve the pressure in his cock and put on his “club gear“. Sherlock´s jacket fit astonishingly well. It was smooth and heavy with all the metal studs on it. There were really spiky ones on the shoulders and a handpainted white skull at the back. The best thing was that it smelled faintly of Sherlock.

The punk doctor eyed John appreciatingly, “You´d look even more ravishing with black eyeliner.“

“Heaven, no! It´s enough I´ll have to deal with this“, John exclaimed and gestured to the killer studs on his shoulders, “Hopefully I won´t impale my face by accident!“

“I´m confident that you´ll manage. And if you don´t, I could easily cut them out of your cheeks since I´m a very good surgeon.“ He grinned madly.

“That´s not reassuring at all.“

“Good. I don´t want you to feel too safe. Might spoil your adrenaline kink.“ Sherlock smiled.

“You´re such a terrible person.“

“And you like me.“ Sherlock´s smile got broader.

“Piss off!“, John grinned.

“No. I like you in my jacket. It´s fitting your torso rather _snugly_.“

John huffed. He did not want to admit that wearing this jacket really turned him on because it smelled like Sherlock and it felt like being hugged by him. John imagined rubbing his face against Sherlock´s chest and…other body parts as well but got interrupted in his reverie.

“I wonder if another piece of me will also fit you rather _snugly_.“ The arse had noted his daydreaming, of course, and looked positively predatory as he teased John whose cock was stirring into life again. What the hell had happened to his refractory period?

“If you continue to be such a fucking tease then we´ll never make it to your club because I´ll have a go at you right here on the carpet“, John threatened with a stern glare.

Sherlock sniffed, “You realize that´s not really a threat, don´t you?“

“Oh but it is, isn´t it? Because you really don´t want to miss the gig of this weird band.“

“Well, it would just be a minor inconvenience and I´m positive I could do without if needs must“, he quipped haughtily and added a lascivious hip-wiggle.

“What about if you don´t stop this innuendo _right now_ I´ll leave after the show and won´t get back into the flat with you.“

John prayed that threat would suffice because he was quite sure he´d die of spontaneous self combustion if his sexual tension would not find an outlet today. Meaning if he did not get to fuck Sherlock or be fucked by him he´d definitely explode.

Sherlock´s eyes widened in a shocked expression, “You wouldn´t dare!“

John grinned his evil little smile.

Sherlock stared disbelievingly and searched for shamming in the deep ocean blue eyes. He swallowed and whispered, “Oh God. You really would!“

John grinned even more. Evil.

“Fuck you!“, Sherlock hissed.

“Not yet.“


	3. Rapture

They somehow managed to restrain themselves enough to get into a cab without snogging or groping at each other. Which was extremely unsatisfying. They sat pressed into the far corners of the cab´s backseat avoiding all bodily contact and as they arrived at the club both of them were so horny that it had become quite uncomfortable. Especially for Sherlock who wore those very tight fitting skinny tartan trousers. He walked a bit stiffly towards the entrance and John who walked behind him noticed and sniggered which riled Sherlock even more.

So before he was about to take the first of the five steps up to the club´s main door he turned around glared at John and sulked, “That´s _not_ funny, John. I´m really _suffering_.“

It still came as a huge surprise to him when John suddenly grabbed both his forearms firmly but gently and shoved him backwards with determination. John´s hands slid along Sherlock´s leather-clad arms and came to halt at the wrists which he pressed against the brick wall at the height of Sherlock´s shoulders. Which sent a delicious shiver of anticipation along Sherlock´s spine right down into his already straining cock. John leant in and growled in a gravelly voice into Sherlock´s ear, “Maybe I should take measures against that?“

Another wave of lust rippled over Sherlock´s skin and then John licked his ear again because he obviously remembered the highly arousing potential that had had on Sherlock.

„Oompf…“ Sherlock sighed, feeling suddenly devoid of words but full of desire.

He could have freed his hands in an instant because John only held him lightly but he found it extremely sensual to stay sort of “helpless“ and “trapped“ between John´s firm, warm, muscular, leather-clad torso ( _his leather_ ) and the cold wall. He knew John would never force him and therefore he liked the submissive position because he could choose to succumb freely.

Also he had dreamt days about John´s soft warm tongue licking across his ear (and other places) and now it had happened again and he was trembling with arousal and

 _Jesus_ …

John had moved his mouth downwards to bite into the left lapel of his jacket and dragged it out of the way and over his thin shoulder to gain access to his

 _God!_...

collarbone where he started to suck hard _through the fishnet fabric_ to leave a lovebite and that

_YesYesYes…_

was so _fanfuckingtastic_ he wished John would never stop.

Both men were so engrossed in their playful teasing that it was clearly a sacrilege to be snapped out of hovering on cloud nine by hearing some appraising catcalls from the people who passed them on their way to the entrance.

One even cheered “Yeah, go get him, tiger!“, but another one mumbled “Sodding poofters“, yet John stayed all soldier-like cool and just growled “Fuckoff“ without even looking behind before he used that lovely mouth to suck another lovebite.

Sherlock panted and bumped his groin against John´s, feeling both their erections and stuttered dazedly, “What…about… _Ooooh_ …slow?“

“Fuck slow!“, John muttered, ground back and sucked a third while Sherlock whimpered brokenly, “Fuck now?“

“Oh God, yes!“, John´s voice had become deep with lewdness, “Where…“

Before John could finish his question Sherlock snatched Johns lower arm and led him away up the stairs, into a foyer, into a side corridor and then into the men´s toilet. John let himself be dragged along by now also painfully hard and eager for more (much more!) as both of them stopped at the wash basins, panting heavily.

“You´re not actually going to…“, John started but Sherlock spiraled around and slammed his lips against John´s like there would be no tomorrow. His hot wet tongue demanded immediate entry and a loud sigh escaped John´s mouth before it was fully covered by Sherlock´s and then it was only lips and teeth and tongues dancing a frantic and slippery and exhilarating pogo.

They embraced each other, pulling them tight, pressing their bodies against each other and pressing the air out of their lungs. They basked in the shared body heat and stepped backwards in unison until John´s back hit a toilet door. Hands groped desperately at their napes, kneaded their arses and Sherlock even managed to slip into John´s waistband to cup the groin in his large hand which made John shout out loud. John retaliated by shoving his hand into Sherlock´s to pinch one firm arse cheek.

“John, I can´t hold back any longer“, Sherlock breathed.

“Me too!“

“Loo, now, please!“, Sherlock whispered through still kissing lips and vibrated visibly.

John suddenly got very aware that this was public space even if they were currently alone in the toilet.

“You´re not actually going to…“, John started again.

“Yes. I´m.“ Sherlock managed to push the door open and led John reverently into the small space, “ _We_ _will_.“

He manoeuvered them around to be able to shut the door behind them, leant John gently against it and fumbled frantically with shaking hands at the fly of the combat trousers and hissed as they did not immediately come apart to be shoved down towards John´s knees.

“Jesus, Sherlock. What if…“, John gasped and he was so hard and his cock literally jumped out of the far too tight pants and stood proudly up to rest against Sherlock´s fishnet top and that sensation pushed John so close to the edge that he could only whimper and felt tears of lust pooling in his eyes and precum seeping from his glans.

“I really don´t fucking care!“, Sherlock growled, “The aftermath is secondary!“

John could not believe he was actually going to have sex in a men´s toilet like in a scene from some sleazy porn movie but thinking about that made his cock pulse again in a hot wave of arousal.

_Oh bugger! Seems I´m turned on by the outlook of having sex in semi-public. With Sherlock, in a fucking loo. Fucking in a loo. Good God, I´m nearly coming before he even touched me…_

John wondered what would happen if they got caught (another hot wave of desire rolled through his ever more leaking cock), if the other men using the toilet would hear them while going at it (and yet another firy flush surged through) and see them emerging together sated and dishevelled afterwards (if he didn´t find release soon he´d probably burst his balls).

Meanwhile Sherlock had somehow managed to open his skinny jeans and shove them down over his angular hipbones and grunted and snorted in an ultimately filthy way. His face was flushed with eager desire, the forehead sweaty, his mesmerizing eyes clouded with lust and he sniffed at John´s neck in a feral way as if to take possession of him. To mark him as his own.

John glanced down and saw that Sherlock did not wear any pants beneath and his erection was leaking as well.

“Sherlock, you can´t…“, John whined.

“Shut up, John. Touch me already. Rub me. Scratch me. Squeeze me, whatever! Just. Fuck. Now!“

Sherlock demanded nearly breathless, his voice was a deep sensual rumble that went straight into John´s cock that twitched heavily and he groaned and

“Oh fuck, _fuck_ , FUCK!“

and Sherlock´s hand was on John´s cock and stroked him and scratched his fingernails against the shaft and Sherlock pressed

“Just. Do. Something!“

through his lips while gasping and hit his head with bouncing curls against the thin wall that separated the stalls and as John closed his hand around Sherlock and slid it deftly over the glans while cupping his balls with the other hand and then the surgeon exhaled a high pitched whine and John breathed

“Fuck, Sherlock, I´ll come…“

and then a drop of saliva ran down Sherlock´s chin

“John, I, Ahhhh…too…“

and then they both

came

together

in an explosion

of electric energy

running through their every nerve

and hot cum splashed into their hands and they shouted and groaned and it was

sinfully dirty and

exquisitely glorious and

every atom of their bodies seemed to be ripped apart only to be put together again in a better way than ever before and now inseparable from each other.

Sherlock slumped down onto the toilet seat in a wheezing heap of nearly boneless human being and John had to prop himself up against the door in order not to slide down onto the soiled floor and simply faint.

It was the best hand job both had ever had, even quick and unskillful and humiliatingly vocal as it had been and on top of that in a toilet stall in a punk rock club.

They emerged dazedly after cleaning themselves poorly with toilet paper and covering their now flaccid cocks properly and still not quite focused on reality and stumbled to the wash basins to clean their hands.

Only to find themselves being comically looked at by two men. One did not bat an eye and simply stared astonished at them but the other one grinned all over his face and clapped his hands appreciatingly.

“Great show, guys. Nearly came myself. I liked that high pitched whine best. Which one of you was it?“

Sherlock deeply blushed. The crimson red colour would not leave his sharp cheekbones for at least ten minutes and this time John was brazen enough to snap a photo of Sherlock even if he was still floating on a wave of adrenaline and endorphins.

Sherlock looked ravished and, well, like someone who just had quick dirty sex. His curls had become sweaty at the base and the painted-on shiner was a bit smudged but had miraculously survived on the whole and now made Sherlock look lewd, slutty and utterly delectable and John felt desire surging up in his groin already again.

And as Sherlock shot off an honest-to-god death glare John just snapped another photo. The surgeon snorted, stomped his foot like a four-year-old (honestly!) and rushed offended out of the toilet.

“If you don´t behave like an adult I´ll print it out and put it on the memoboard in the staff room of the hospital“, John said calmly as he walked up to the seething man who lingered in the foyer.

“I hate you!“, Sherlock spat.

“No, you don´t.“

“I already regret having asked you out then.“

“No, you don´t.“ John repeated.

One could really see the cogs in Sherlock´s giant brain turning as he thought about a witty comeback and…failed. He must have gotten too much sensual input due to the sex that he was now lacking any intelligent comebacks.

 _But if he palms me again like that it´s actually worth being speechless. It was the best I´ve ever had and I´m shuddering at the mere thought what_ real _sex would feel like with John. Would he top or bottom? I don´t care as long as I get access to this divine cock…_

“Just wait“, Sherlock huffed, “I´ll catch you later.“

What a feeble attempt to gain the upper hand. How he hated to be devoid of words. Something like that only happened when he was around John and Sherlock really loathed it.

“No, you won´t.“ John sing-songed playfully and placed a gentle kiss on flushed red cheekbone.

They entered the main area of the club together and while Sherlock still sulked like a toddler John cast a look around. He had expected that “The Misfit“ would be nothing more than a filthy drug den squat-like hellhole but instead it turned out to be a modern building with a state of the art sound and light system. It was surprisingly clean and the equipment was also well-maintained and had it not been for the graffiti style wild wall deco and the black furniture with a blood splatter design it would have been just like any other faceless club.

The stage was still empty and rock music was playing in the background.

John elbowed Sherlock gently to get the man to stop pouting and talk to him again and purred into his ear, “The toilet. I liked that. Hot and dirty.“

“The toilets are not dirty.“ If one thing was sure than it was that Dr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes would never leave an imprecise statement uncorrected, his former sulk forgotten.

“You know exactly what I mean, you berk.“

“Thinking back I could almost go there again“, Sherlock cooed and fingered the short hair at John´s nape, “You did fit rather well into the stall thanks to your smaller figure.“

“Arse! My God, you can´t be already horny again“, John choked out. But thinking about it, John himself was already getting hard again so why shouldn´t Sherlock as well?

Sherlock grumbled, “Well I´ve been fine before I met you in the A&E so it´s all _your_ fault that I can´t get your cock out of my head.“

“Maybe you should get my cock into your mouth then?“

“That might help“, Sherlock replied drily and gazed down at John with lust glazed eyes.

“Now you´ve also made me hard again“, John mockingly complained. Obviously the sensuality of the heart surgeon reduced John´s refractory period close to zero.

“Pity. Let´s go back and have another round.“

“You´re insatiable.“, John sighed

“Lucky you“, Sherlock quipped.

So, after another round of mutally spectacularly hot (and also spectacularly quickly over) hand jobs they both finally felt sexually sated enough to not become hard again as soon as they brushed against each other or John heard Sherlock´s sultry voice or Sherlock saw John habitually licking his lips.

Feeling quite exhausted and spent due the unexpected _physical_ _stress_ they headed back for the main area of the club to get themselves drinks to wet their throats and were completely engrossed in thought (about spectacular “real“ sex) when Sherlock suddenly grunted as the air was pressed out of his chest because someone had sneaked up from behind and grappled him tightly around the torso before letting go.

“Ha, I knew I´ll catch you fucker one day unawares!“, came a victorious shout.

John spun around to see a scrawny punk attacking Sherlock and his soldier reflexes instantly kicked in at the perceived threat towards his friend. (Colleague? Fuckmate? Boyfriend? Lover?) In a flurry of quick and well-practised martial arts moves John caught the assailant, threw him to the ground and pinned him there on his back while kneeling on top of a bony chest. His breath had hardly quickened at all.

The sight of John´s confidence and soldier-y efficience turned on Sherlock very much and he lost himself in a delicious daydream about _Captain Watson_ and he did not follow the ensuing dialogue.

The attacker meanwhile had regained his breath, glared at John and spit out “What the fuck ya think ya doin´! That fuckin´ hurt!“

“Dealing with an attack.“ John said calmly.

“You´re mental. You broke my arm!“, the man squealed.

John quickly prodded the limb and diagnosed unperturbed, “No, it´s just a sprain.“

“It´s squishy, it shouldn´t feel squishy!“, the punk accused.

John huffed, “Trust me, I´m a doctor. I know how to sprain people.“

The punk moved his vitriolic glare from John to behind him and furiously demanded, “Sherlock, you arse, don´t just gawk, get him off me!“

John looked surprised back up to his friend who actually had an extremely dumb expression on his face (sadly John could not get a hold on his phone to snap another priceless photo at this moment).

Sherlock shook himself back into reality even if it meant having to leave his reverie about _Captain Watson disciplining a misbehaving Private Holmes_ and snorted, “Don´t ever mess with John, Billy. He´s a real badass“, followed by a delighted giggle that could also have come from a schoolgirl.

John preened and glowed internally at Sherlock´s praise. He felt a bit like a neanderthal who had successfully subdued the sabre tooth tiger to protect his family.

_God, what an awful sappy notion._

Only that in this case the sabre tooth tiger turned out to be a tall skinny man clad in dirty washed out blue jeans, scuffed combat boots and a holey black t-shirt. Both arms were covered with beautifully executed tattoos. His face was lean, a bit weaselly and he had a short cropped green mohawk hairdo and a pair of piercing blue eyes drilled into John´s, an accusing glare in them. One eye was adorned with a fake shiner just like Sherlock´s, he wore skull earrings and a choker made of rusty barbed wire. Which after a second glance luckily turned out to be skillfully made of a thin leather strap.

Something in John´s brain clicked into place suddenly. Sherlock was _amused_ and seemingly knew the punk who had pounced on him. He did not feel _threatened_ at all.

“Wait, what, Billy who?“

The skinny punk narrowed his eyes and bore an all-seeing lance-like look into John´s face. It felt highly uncomfortable and uncannily reminded him of Sherlock´s “dissecting deduction stare“.

A knowing smile turned Billy´s mouth upwards. “Aw, Sherlock, did you just shag an ex-army guy in my toilet?“

“Oh, for fuck´s sake. He can do that deduction thing, too?“, John looked accusingly at Sherlock who had the nerve to instantly pout and indignantly huffed.

“Don´t be stupid John. Billy is not even rudimentarily as good as me.“

“Well, I´m good enough to see that your shag is also a doctor with skillful hands“, Billy retorted and grinned a toothy smile that made his whole face light up with obvious affection for Sherlock and _that_ really got John´s hackles to rise. Jealousy got a strong grip on him. He let the man go who scrambled to his feet and then _Billy_ hugged Sherlock for real. And Sherlock hugged him back!

_Is he Sherlock´s ex? Did they shag, too? Is he in love with him? He definitely likes him…_

“Stop thinking, John. It´s embarrassing“, Sherlock condescended to say.

The punk elbowed him firmly into the lower ribs, “Just introduce me to him, you clot!“

“Yes, so, John, this is Billy Wiggins, the owner of “The Misfit“ and a long time friend.“

Billy beamed and extended the uninjured hand to John who shook it after a moment of hesitation.

“Billy, this is Dr. John Watson. He works at the A&E in the hospital.“

Billy interjected, “You forgot to mention that I only own 50% of the club and that the other half is yours.“

Sherlock blushed at that, looking shy and John fell even more in love with the ridiculously sheepish man.

“So, Billy´s your business partner?“, John inquired.

Sherlock sighed and made an obvious decision to share something that he normally didn´t. “He´s much more than a business partner. Billy saved my life.“

“Aw, come on. It was no great deal. You know I just didn´t want to have the coppers all over the place“, Billy deflected and looked away, now sheepish as well.

Totally curious John pleaded, “Could one of you please tell me the whole story?“

Sherlock and Billy exchanged a quick glance as if to reassure each other that it was O.K. and Billy gave Sherlock an affirmative nod to continue.

“I already told you, John, that I overdosed as a teen and would have died if a fellow addict would not have called an ambulance. Well, that was Billy. We both lived in the squat together with other junkies and became friends. We helped us out and had each other´s back. After my surgery I went to rehab and got clean. I was so grateful that Billy called the paramedics so I helped him in return.“

Billy chimed in, “Yeah, he came back to find me and convinced me to quit the drugs as well. He went to Cambridge to study medicine and I became a bassist in a punk band to make a living.“

Sherlock chortled, “You were an abyssmal bassist.“

Billy laughed whole-heartedly, “Oh God, that´s true. But the band´s musical style was mainly making infernal noise so that didn´t really matter. The money I earned was just enough not to starve and to rent a shitty bedsit. But it kept me off the drugs.“

“So how could you pay for the club?“, John asked, fascinated by the story.

Sherlock suddenly shuffled his feet nervously.

“I didn´t pay“, said Billy, “he bought it“, and pointed at Sherlock.

“In fact it was a snip. The warehouse had already been turned into a disco but went bankrupt due to mismanagement. Billy loved music and while playing in that awful band he got aquainted with a lot of others and became well-known in the punk scene. “The Misfit“ started small but got more and more successful and now it´s a famous spot“, Sherlock explained.

John gaped incredulously, “So you generously gifted a whole disco to your life saviour?“

Sherlock tried to sound dismissive and downplay his bestowal, “Noooo, I´m not generous. I kept 50% of it and also I had regained access to my trust fund when I became clean. And Billy does all the work.“

“But you only take 20% of the profit and only because I threatened you to refuse to accept your gift otherwise.“

Sherlock sniffed and was obviously uncomfortable with the topic so John took pity on him and told Billy that he had treated a patient who OD´ed here in order to ask how Billy coped with the drug use, being an ex-junkie and all that.

Sherlock stated hotly, “Billy does not tolerate drugs in the club.“

“Yeah. It´s an absolute no-go. It´s a strict policy that anyone who gets caught using or dealing will be banned lifelong. Everyone knows that. Of course I can´t prevent people from getting high before they come here but there are absolutely no chemicals on my grounds.“

Sherlock added, “Two years ago Pete, one of Billy´s bartenders, caught a dealer red-handed and reported him to the police. He went to jail.“

“What about the constant brawls?“, John asked.

Billy scratched his mohawk and shrugged nonchalantly, “Aw, you can´t forbid your customers all the fun.“ Then he grinned a terribly crooked but very charming smile.

Billy got called away to announce the beginning of the concert and the crowd gathered in front of the stage, pulling Sherlock and John with them. The band “You should see the other one“ stormed out and started to pound on their instruments with fervour much to the great exaltation of the rabid fans.

John had expected the music to be loud and screaming dissonance, lacking any melody with just monotonous dumb beats, screeching guitars and dully spewed out lyrics and was very positively surprised. He should have known better by now than to fall into preemptive assumptions about anything concerning punk music and life style. So instead of merely suffering quietly through an atrocious concert only to be close to Sherlock while desperately avoiding to suffer an acute hearing loss John really enjoyed the music.

They were standing a bit away from the thickest throng of screaming, writhing, and pogo-ing fans and John really fell in love with the gunlike sounds of the music, the intriguing energetic riffs and the chaos of wildly dancing bodies reminded him of being in a warzone so that he felt strangely and derangedly comforted by that sort of homelike feeling.

Of course Sherlock, the insufferable bugger, noticed and mind reading amazing prick that he was shouted, “I knew you would thrive in here!“, into John´s ear from behind as he pressed himself hard against John´s back and hugged him tight. After just one second´s thought Sherlock bit into John´s earlobe and licked along the ear conch which emitted a lewd sound out of John which was thankfully drowned by the loud pounding music for for anyone else to hear but Sherlock.

“Love you. My John.“

“My love, Sherlock.“

The two men swayed slowly to the music even if the beat was much faster but it felt highly sensual and they were intimately connected with each other and although being surrounded by wildly jumping or headbanging fans they owned a small island of calm in the storm which made them feel even more like two souls fitting perfectly together.

Sherlock let his chin rest lightly on John´s shoulder and John clasped his hands over Sherlock´s on his chest and relished in the contact and warmth from behind. Both men felt loved, accepted and ultimately secure with the other so close.

Sherlock had never been averse to sex but he usually did not allow himself to be distracted by mere carnal needs from his Work and also people were generally too stupid to be worthy of bothering with them but _John_ proved to be such a _fucking_ distraction. He licked across his nape and tried to distinguish every molecule of the divine taste. He could eat John Watson alive, he wanted to consume him until every atom of John was his. Never to be apart again.

The sight of John wearing his old studded leather jacket was extremely arousing and made his cock fill with blood nearly bursting again with desire in spite of the two previous magnificent orgasms. John´s scent would linger in the lining fabric, his skin cells would hold onto it, the molecules of John´s sweat would stay long after he had put it off and Sherlock wanted to be able to distill the ultimate essence of John Watson and put it in a perfume vial to preserve his smell to be cherished whenever Sherlock wanted to have _John_.

He hugged his lover? boyfriend? hand job partner? closer and wished he could stay forever like this. _Perfect_ John who wasn´t put off by his deductions, who definitely liked him and who mysteriously managed to make Sherlock hard by merely thinking of him. John who gave the two most raptorous hand jobs to him, who tasted like heaven, who got turned on when he dressed _punk_ , John who shared his time with him dancing in “The Misfit“…he could never fathom the whole of this man. Just. Perfect. For him. A miracle. Just. John.

“Are you my boyfriend now?“, Sherlock shouted in the middle of the concert. They had let go of each other some time before, Sherlock had been dancing in a graceful flurry of lithe limbs while John had been occasionally headbanging and who would have anticipated that glorious picture of a completely uninhibited ex-army doctor, totally lost in the vibrant music?

“Oh, Sherlock! If you really have to ask this, you´re just thick as a brick“, John shouted back and Sherlock felt a wave of hot joy and desire washing over him and he knew that John Watson would be the drug he would be totally addicted to from now on.

While the concert continued John had gotten hooked on the music right from the very first song. After the fourth he considered to buy their CD, after the nineth he declared himself to be a fan and after the first encore he urged Sherlock to tell him where he had bought this band patch which adorned the back of his leather jacket. Sherlock told him that Billy sold these (and other fan merch) in a small shop back in the club that would open shortly after. The last consideration of John´s circled around the problem that he actually did not own a leather jacket to put the patch on and decided he really had to buy one. Preferably one that looked like the one Sherlock had lent him.

After the band exited the stage to another roaring applause of the wild fans, the two doctors were soaked with sweat, utterly dishevelled and thirsty like hell. They went for the bar, holding hands like lovesick teenagers and didn´t give a shit about what people might think about that, trying hard to get there before the rush that was to be expected after the end of the concert and got themselves drinks.

They bought deliciously cool beer first and a Mai Tai afterwards. Both knew that the high amount of rum in the cocktail would go directly to their bloodstream and positively inebriate their heated brains but why should they bother with that at all? The evening was perfect, they loved each other, they had started a fantastic relationship and they already had had epic sex even without penetration so why not get a bit drunk to celebrate that stellar event?

Sherlock, clasping the cocktail glass loosely in his hand and already a bit tipsy (due to the level of alcohol or the endorphines in his blood he was not quite sure) took John to the band merch shop in the back of the club to buy the patch he coveted.

He also went for John´s mouth in a slow languid kiss of tasting his tongue and nibbling at his soft lips. He licked along John´s neck which sent a delighted shiver across the smooth skin there and the smaller man exhaled serenely and leant against Sherlock´s bony chest. Sherlock scraped his teeth softly over John´s jugular vein and used his now quite dry tongue to trace a circular pattern on the delicate adam´s apple.

“If you continue like that we´ll soon have to visit the loo again“, John sighed in a resigned but also anticipating way.

Sherlock purred back, “Or we could exit through the back door into the small alley and…get some fresh air.“

“You mean to air our stifling hot…bodies?“, John deadpanned.

“Ah, well, we shouldn´t risk a heat stroke, should we?“, Sherlock stated in a dry doctor-ly voice, “Could be dangerous.“

And, _God_ , did _that_ subclause turn John on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter to go  
> this will take longer then one week to post due to my current workload  
> my objective is Christmas at the latest though
> 
> enjoy reading and please comment if you like
> 
> also enjoy your Christmas dinners...


	4. Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to everyone!  
> Since the original chapter 4 kept becoming longer and longer I decided to split it.  
> It´s actually the characters´ fault because they couldn´t keep their hands to themselves...  
> So this is the new chapter four and of course there will be an additional chapter 5, with the end of the story.

Without any further hesitation they went to the back door (Sherlock had a key for it) and exited into a narrow and mostly dark back alley. Bins and garbage bags were lined up against the club´s wall and two large skips formed a nook where they could only be seen in the very improbable case of someone walking by.

John was already hard as a brick again and Sherlock also breathed more heavily than he should have to. John felt the Mai Tai coursing through his system which made him impatient, horny and uncaring about anything that did not correspond directly to Sherlock´s cock.

As soon as hey were outside John shoved Sherlock with more force than necessary against the wall and heard the satisfying lustful grunt which emerged out of that divine looking body in front of him. He liked the lewd and dishevelled look of the otherwise so composed and untouchable heart surgeon who was quickly coming undone right here. Because of _him_.

Sherlock put his hand down to open his fly but John snatched the birdlike thin wrist quickly away and pinned it against the wall. He pressed his mouth onto Sherlock´s and swiped a wet tongue over plush lips which opened eagerly to let him in. Sherlock keened and pushed his groin forward to make contact with John´s and both men felt the firm bulge in their trousers.

John´s other hand went to the sweaty curls on Sherlock´s head and carded through them over and over. Sherlock let his head fall backwards to rest it against the bricks breaking contact with John´s mouth who instead started to lick and kiss and suck at his throat and Sherlock relished in the exquisite feeling of fingernails scratching firmly at his skalp while soft lips nibbled at the delicate skin around his Adam´s apple.

John´s mouth wandered down towards his pierced nipple and he started sucking the small heart pendant through the fishnet fabric into his mouth and tugged at the ring that combined it to the hardened flesh.

It hurt exquisitely and Sherlock whimpered as a wave of lust rolled over him. He moaned sinfully and shoved his free hand between them to cup John´s erection first and then started rubbing firmly at the fabric still covering it. He could feel the moisture of John´s leaking cock and grabbed harder until John growled again in a dangerously deep and feral voice, “I´ll. Have. You. Now!“

Sherlock felt his wrist being released as John used his hand to open Sherlock´s fly and then he slid into the tight tartan trousers which were by now also damp with precum at the front because he wore no pants underneath. Sherlock felt the strong and short fingers of John grabbing the hot skin of his cock firmly and then an exhilarating squeeze followed and a flipping of his foreskin and Sherlock shouted out loud in rapture. He let both hands hang loosely down at his side while his whole focus was completely on the clever entrancing movements of John´s hand on his shaft.

It was a glorious feeling. To let John have his way like this with his body. It felt filthy and slutty and so _damn_ _fucking perfect_ being groped through his open zipper with all clothes still on in a dirty back alley and he moaned lecherously. But then John retrieved his hand from Sherlock´s throbbing and hard cock and he whimpered at the tragic loss of delicious friction.

“Nooo“, he whined, “don´t stop. I need to…“

But John, _brilliant John Watson_ , simply raised his hand which was still warm and moist from Sherlock´s precum and put it over his mouth.

“Shut up! “, John demanded quietly and pushed two fingers against Sherlock´s soft lips. He let them in and they explored his mouth and rubbed at his tongue and Sherlock tasted himself on them. He started to suck at the digits while John carefully finger-fucked his mouth. Sherlock slurped and licked and a trickle of saliva started running slowly down over his chin.

Sherlock lay his hands on John´s bottom cheeks and cupped them firmly. John reciprocated by pulling at the lush curls strongly one more time before he used that hand to push it between Sherlock´s waistband and shoved his strong fingers into the cleft of Sherlock´s firm arse. John found the entrance he searched for and let his index finger dance slow circles around the puckered muscle which got Sherlock to exhale randy grunts against John´s neck. Shivers of lust and want rippled through Sherlock´s body and piled up in his still sadly abandoned cock. He felt another large drop of precum forming at his swollen glans.

And then,

and then,

then John gently pushed his index finger into the soft warmth of Sherlock´s body.

The pressure in his arse was heavenly but yet maddeningly unfair because Sherlock felt another hot wave of arousal surging through him and he leaked even more and his cock was still without John´s caress and even more desperately pressing against the painfully restraining trousers.

“John, I need…to get free…to come“, he stuttered between gasps for air, John´s fingers still pressing on his tongue. The flood of sensations on his head and throat and cock and arse was nearly too much. Above all that John smelled divinely of sweet fresh sweat, of spicy rum and rich musk and _so thoroughly_ _male_. It was exhilarating and overwhelming and nearly got Sherlock lost in a sensual overload.

Suddenly John let go of Sherlock´s mouth and the taller man whined in frustration.

“Joooohn“, he moaned weakly, longing for John´s lovely fingers rubbing his mouth in such a salacious way but then brilliant _brilliant_ John Watson finally had mercy on his poor straining member.

Strong, determined, devoted John deftly opened the fly button of Sherlock´s and after yanking at the waistband and shoving the tartan fabric down Sherlock finally came free and his full cock could unfold and stood proudly way up in the cool air, the skin moist and hot and taut.

They had so much more space in the alley as in the toilet and clever John used it to roll them around so that John´s back was against the wall now and he was able to move his lower hand more freely. He inserted his index finger deeper into Sherlock´s entrance and rotated it to further open the muscle. He added a second finger and Sherlock thought he´d faint immediately due to the utterly rapturous sensation. John´s other hand returned to Sherlock´s mouth and mirrored the movements of the lower one perfectly.

Sherlock sucked at the fingers like a starving man, tracing his tongue up and down the soft digits. He went limp and pliant and shut his eyes in pure bliss feeling John´s fingers fucking his mouth and arse at the same time.

John licked the dripping saliva off Sherlock´s chin and swallowed hard and it tasted like expensive champagne. Sherlock made such wonderful small needy sounds of lust and ground his cock against John´s belly and John felt very close to the edge.

Sherlock pushed John´s already loosened combat trousers further down and after what had felt like a lifetime the skin of their cocks was finally touching and they moved their hips to rub against each other in a rhythm of ecstasy. The friction was fantastic, magnificent, unearthly sensual and Sherlock used his big hand to encircle them both and stroke them both and slide over each slick glans mixing their precum while his other hand started to knead John´s lovely arse.

John breathed raggedly and in a moment of pure inspiration he moved them around again to press Sherlock back against the wall and so much deeper onto his two fingers and he finally hit the prostate. He squeezed Sherlock´s hand firmly between their slick cocks it was the feeling of his naked arse scraping against the brittle and cold brick wall that was the final straw to make Sherlock come undone.

John bit into Sherlock´s throat as he released his tension in a wave of hot spurting semen and a long deep rumbling moan and that sound made John ejaculate mere seconds later and they both grunted in sweet deliverance and bliss. Sherlock´s hand could not prevent that splashes of milk white cum found their way upwards onto his fishnet shirt and John´s tight camouflage army issue top and that it also dripped down onto their trousers which hung loosely around their knees.

Sherlock slumped exhausted against the brick wall and John fell boneless against him. They were blissed out, they were spent, they were sated, they were reeking of sex and semen and Sherlock´s hand dripped with cum and their arses were naked in the cold air while their bodies were hot and sweaty and sexy and perfect and

_they loved each other so much!_

Minutes later Sherlock wiped his hand on his already soiled trousers so it really didn´t matter if there would be more stains. He embraced John in a tight but gentle hug and buried his nose in the blond hair.

“Love you so much“, he murmered.

John embraced the lanky man back and suckled at the lovebites he hade made earlier and mumbled “Love you, too.“

They stayed like that for several more minutes forming their own little coccoon of perfect happiness until John sighed, “I hate to interrupt but I´m getting quite cold down there.“

“Oh, right. Um, sorry, better dress again, then.“

After they had covered themselves and regained something like a little bit of composure John looked down at himself and then at Sherlock.

“Oh, my God! What an _epic_ orgasm!“, he grinned blissfully, “Still our clothes are soiled and we probably look like the spitting image of gay debauchery.“

“Yes, well“, Sherlock sniffed at their bellies, “we definitely smell like it.“ He smiled proudly.

“How can we get back without anyone noticing? “, John wondered while they returned through the back door.

“I don´t care if anyone sees us. “ Sherlock stated somewhat defiantly.

“Yeah. Sure. Like you said, the aftermath is secondary.“ John deadpanned.

“Exactly. “ Sherlock nodded, distracted by locking the door.

“But still. People see us this way and would probably think we just had dirty gay alley sex.“ John wriggled his eyebrows in a mischiveous way.

Sherlock gave him a mock-scandalized glare, “We just _had_ dirty gay alley sex. You might have noticed. You were part of it. Quite energetically.“

“There might be talk“, John objected but smiled.

“People always talk. They do little else“, Sherlock scoffed, “nobody from work is here so really I don´t give a fuck.“

“You just gave a fuck.“

“Urgh, John, that´s a terrible pun.“

“Well, thank God then that the fuck you gave was not terrible.“

Sherlock grunted, “and yet another terrible one. Let´s get inside. If you´re so concerned about clothes we could borrow Billy´s spare rain capes to cover the _dirty_ _sex stains_.“

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders in a “solved a problem that has not actually been a problem from the beginning“ kind of way.

John shot him a scutinizing look, “You should at least clean your face. The stage paint and eyeliner are smudged beyond repair, you´re sweaty and filthy and look like a proper sex offender.“

“Pah! I´m a _serial_ sex offender concerning you“, Sherlock huffed indignantly, “and I´m not remorseful and I´ll do it again!“

“Oooh, is that a promise?“ John cooed.

“Obviously!“

While bantering they had walked to Billy´s office and found the door ajar so they entered assuming that he would be inside.

“Hey, Billy, can we borrow your…“ Sherlock called out but stopped mid-sentence suddenly shocked and he only heard John exclaiming “Buggering shit!“ as he rushed past Sherlock to kneel besides Billy Wiggins.

Sherlock was actually shell-shocked and unable to move for several seconds. He numbly watched as John was rushing past him to kneel beside the unconscious form of his friend Billy who lay backwards on the floor in front of his desk, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, lips blueish and his face contorted in agony.

There was blood seeping from a laceration on his temple. The way his face was scrunched up and one of his hands was closed around his throat suggested that he had desperately tried to breathe but obviously couldn´t get enough air.

Billy´s other hand and arm were stretched out at his side and he was clutching a bloodied knife but the whole position was strangely incongruent to the rest of his body. Sherlock blinked and immediately concluded that the arm had obviously been laid out that way and the knife had been pressed into Billy´s hand by another person after he had lost consciousness.

On Billy´s desk stood a cocktail glass half empty with a blueish liquid and a ridiculous pineapple shaped paper umbrella stuck in a slice of lemon. A small plastic baggie filled with yellow pills lay opened besides. They had a smiley face imprinted on top.

While Sherlock was taking in the scene, contemplating it and deducing what has happened and why, John had been busy with quickly assessing Billy´s medical state. In contrast to Sherlock he was calm and collected, his movements measured and confident.

He calmly stated “Respiration is nearly nil and he´s tachycardic. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation impossible. His windpipe is obstructed due to swelling, obviously some kind of allergic shock.“

Sherlock inhaled deeply and visibly shook himself out of his current stupor.

“Billy has a rare allergy to MDMA“, he gestured to the yellow pills, “apart from being clean he´d never take those willingly. He nearly asphyxiated the one time he tried. Someone must have slipped ecstasy into his cocktail to make it look like a drug overdose.“

“Well, I´m going to perform an emergency tracheotomy to create an entry to his airway and get him breathing again. Is there a sharp knife or something comparable?“ John looked up questioningly at Sherlock.

“Don´t touch the knife in his hand. It´s evidence!“

“Of course not. I´m not stupid, you know.“ John replied irritated at Sherlock´s lack of confidence in his mental abilities.

Sherlock jerked into action, tore out a drawer and emptied its contents onto the desk. He picked a penknife and tossed it to John who skillfully plucked it out of the air.

Normally one would just puncture the skin and ligament below the larynx with a special cannula. A real tracheotomy would mainly be done in an operation theatre under controlled conditions but since John was a very well-versed surgeon and more than accustomed to performing surgical procedures in definitely uncontrolled environments (like under fire in the heat and sand of Afghanistan´s desert) he chose that option.

“Come here and hold his head steady. And I´ll need something to put into the cut to keep it from closing.“ John demanded.

Sherlock snatched a paper-clip and quickly folded it into a sort of wegde before he flopped down and held Billy´s head while John centered himself. Then he placed the penknife into the correct position for the cut and inserted the sharp blade with the certainty of years of practice.

Right at this moment someone was entering through the door asking “Mr. Wiggins, are you in…“ before the question stopped abruptly and changed into a harsh shout “Police! Hands up and don´t move!“

Reality came to a sudden halt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read about the difference between a tracheotomy and a koniotomy.  
> However I´m not quite sure if I got it right in English and also I did not want to blab too long about medical procedures.  
> So, sorry for any mistakes. Still it´s only fiction and not a textbook...


	5. Revenge

Detective Inspector Dimmock of New Scotland Yard was on his way back to his office in the homicide devision in a police car after interrogating a witness on a recent crime scene when he got the radio call that he was to immediately drive to “The Misfit“ because there had been a murder. Police backup as well as an ambulance and paramedics were already on their way, too.

Oh, he really despiced that venue. He had never been there personally but like most of his fellow police officers he had heard enough wild stories about incidents in _that_ place. There were cases of assault constantly, the drugs squad was always wary about the club (there had been the issue of a convicted drug dealer some time before) and not to mention the numerous reports of public intoxication most likely going along with public indecency as well. Damage to property, defamition of civil servants on duty, obstructing a police officer and so on and so on. It was _endless_. The club was a cesspool in which all the dregs of human society gathered to form a thick layer of anarchy, depravity and general misconduct.

In short, the DI hated the unsavoury folk that ganged together in that hellhole, like the punks and junkies and winos, dealers, rent-boys, criminals, thugs and all kinds of low-lifes. No law-abiding citizen would willingly go there and listen to this infernal music anyway. And how they dressed! One half walked around in ragged black clothes with studs all over while the other half looked like they jumped out of vampire horror movie. Grown-up people! Utterly mortifying!

If he could have his way the club would have been closed a long time ago, their owners arrested and the building best been burnt down to the ground to relieve London of its existance. For ever!

So it came as no surprise to him at all that someone had been murdered there today. It had only been a matter of time. And now he had to sort out the mess. If only the interrogation earlier had not taken so long he would be home right now, enjoy his well-earned after-work hours and another DI would have to deal with that human filth. Instead _he_ had to interact with London´s scum. He desperately prayed that it would be easy to find the culprit, arrest him and get it over with quickly. He already loathed the whole case before he even knew what is was all about.

In fact, the crime and its circumstances proved to be rather simple. Pete Campbell, one of “The Misfit“s long time bartenders had been found stabbed in a storeroom. According to the forensic officer who had arrived some time before the DI the murder weapon had to be a long, thin and very sharp blade and was currently missing. The victim showed three deep wounds in his chest area, at least one of them lethal due to the disrupture of a major blood vessel and so he had bled out, leaving a large red and already coagulated puddle on the tiled floor.

After taking a look at the crime scene DI Dimmock was sure that Campbell must have known his murderer because the killer must have been very close and in front of the victim. Then he went to interrogate the barmaid, one Anne Bishop, who had found the body and had instantly called the police. For having found a dead body she was actually quite composed.

Anne was all skinny and wore a flimsy piece of fabric one could hardly call a mini skirt over ripped fishnets and a leather corselet, all black of course, with bright red hair, ugly black lipstick and both arms were covered with disgusting skull tattoos. She had gone to search for Pete who went to the storage to get another keg of beer and as he stayed away much longer than expected and as the bar had been stormed by thirsty punks she had gone to take a look what kept him there.

She found Campbell lying in a puddle of blood on the floor, obviously dead. Since she was a medical student ( _could one believe that_ ) she was quite calm about the whole affair ( _thank God for small mercies, he really hated hysterically crying female witnesses_ ) even if she was still very shocked about Pete´s death.

She admitted she had had a crush on him for a long time but to no avail since he was already married and faithful to his wife. Anyway, Anne had quickly diagnosed that Pete had died due to massive blood loss and had called the police at once. She had not yet talked to Billy Wiggins, the owner of this shithole, who was supposed to be in his office at the back of the club. She told the DI that Billy could easily be recognised by the short green mohawk.

_What else! Could no one in this damn place have a decent haircut? Or at least a normal hair colour?_

There was another barmaid named Danny Kent. Dimmock sighed internally at her bright pink spiky hair and skin-tight torn black leggins and top ( _and why the hell did she have to have a boy´s name_ ) who remembered that a man whom she did not know had asked to speak to Pete earlier. That man had been rather stocky and fair-haired and wore a leather jacket but otherwise she could not recall any special traits.

Both barmaids had only worked a short time in the club and could not recollect anything strange about the evening, the guests or Pete´s behaviour.

The DI decided to go and question the owner about the victim and the stranger and maybe Mr. Wiggins would know the man who inquired about Pete and maybe (hopefully) it was simply a matter of a drug deal gone wrong and he could shove that fucking case into the hands of the drugs squad. Assumed that Wiggins cooperated with the police…

Dimmock found his way through the surprisingly clean club to the office, pushed open the door without knocking already starting to ask: “Mr. Wiggins, are you in…“ before he stopped abruptly. Instead he shouted “Police! Hands up and don´t move!“ at the incredible scene which unfolded before his disbelieving eyes and he drew his service weapon to emphasize his order.

Reality came to a sudden halt.

The DI took in the incredible scene in mere seconds. Only the siren sound of the arrived ambulance could be heard in the distance. He could hardly think that it was real.

A tall, black haired and utterly _filthy_ gutterpunk who looked like a tacky rent boy knelt on the ground and loomed over the helpless owner of the club. Billy Wiggins was easily identified by the green mohawk hairdo and lay motionless on his back on the floor. The slutty punk held Billy´s head down which was bleeding from a laceration at the forehead.

A stocky blonde punk in army-issue trousers and a leather jacket was _literally_ holding a pen knife _in_ the man´s throat where he had obviously just stabbed the victim _._ He fit the discription of the man who had searched for Campbell perfectly.

 _Was Wiggins his second victim this evening?_

The DI also noticed that Mr. Wiggings held his fingers cramped around a bloodied stiletto-like knife which suited perfectly to the stab wounds in Pete Campbell´s chest.

_Did Wiggings stab the bartender then? And who the fuck were these two repugnant punks?_

Said punks were both looking upwards to him in a way that rather spoke of being annoyed by his interruption than being scared by the fact that a DI caught them red-handed doing, well, whatever actually had they been doing? Murder, assault, robbery or what?

_What the fuck???_

Reality was still on hold. The silence was deafening while the blood swooshed in the DI´s ear.

Two pairs of stunningly coloured eyes were watching him as he was watching them.

The ocean blue pair of the army punk moved first and quickly looked away. “Army“ was absolutely unimpressed by being aimed at with a gun and focused again on the throat of his victim. He pulled the knife out and instead inserted two fingers into the wound to spread it open.

_What the…?_

Meanwhile the bluegreengrey pair of the slutty punk scrutinized him with such utter disdain and fierce intelligence that the hardened detective actually felt intimidated for a second. Or even five seconds.

It got him completely by surprise. The reaction of Army had been simply unexpected but _this_? It was not what he thought “Slutty“ would be like: menacingly intelligent with an air of natural superiority that one could only have if one wholeheartedly felt it.

_He looks at me like I am the vermin here. What the fucking fuck...?_

“Don´t disturb performing the tracheotomy, you moron! Be useful and lead the paramedics in here. Now!“ Slutty snarled. His voice was posh as hell and also so authentic it could not be faked.

Still, being ordered about and insulted by this human trash who thought himself superior to anyone else really aggravated Dimmock beyond belief. He opened his mouth to growl a hefty return but Army spoke first. Calm and competent and also absolutely not like what the DI expected from someone who actually had fingers shoved into another one´s throat.

“Airway free. I need the paper-clip to keep the windpipe open.“

Slutty made a move with his hand which got Dimmock alerted so he shouted: “Hands up in the air, at once! Both of you!“ at the same time as he regained some sort of authority over his body and voice.

“Dear God, how can you be so utterly unobserving?“, Slutty sighed and started to go into a tirade, “ _Given the way you close your shirt cuffs you simply got into the position of a DI because_ …“

“Sherlock, stop showing off. You can deduce him to pieces later when Billy is stabilized. Now, give me the paper-clip.“ Army interrupted impatiently and commanded while holding out his hand.

Slutty had an odd expression on his face but snapped his mouth shut. He pouted like a four-year-old. Still he complied to the order anyway while eyeing Army lewdly.

 _Deduce me?_ _What he buggering fucking fuck…?_

DI Dimmock blinked slowly. He could not believe that his presence as well as the presence of the gun in his hand was _completely ignored_ by these arseholes. Anyway he had had enough and decided to show them who was giving the orders here.

“Freeze now or I´ll shoot you. Last warning!“

He underlined the graveness of his threat and fired a warning shot at the ceiling. A small cloud of crumbled concrete floated serenely to the ground like in a snow globe followed by the hollow echo of the gunshot sound.

Slutty ( _was he really called Sherlock? No, he must have misheard. Nobody names their child that_ ) had at least the decency to flinch at the shot and he deigned to raise his hands behind his head with the most theatrical eyeroll the DI had ever seen. Whereas Army just deeply sighed and disapprovingly looked at him before he scolded like a teacher would an extremely dense pupil.

“You as a DI should _really_ know that when firing a bullet at a hard surface, such as concrete, is it likely to ricochet which might endanger bystanders and cause collateral damage in civillians. That´s first hour weapon lore!“

And then he calmly inserted the paper-clip into the cut at the throat of Billy Wiggins to keep it open.

Dimmock felt utterly out of his depth. Should he shoot Army now because he still did not heed his orders? Never in his carreer as a police officer had he come across such annoyingly unimpressed ignorant arrogant disdainful utter arseholes! How should the world work out if there is seemingly no acceptance for police power? The DI breathed heavily and felt somehow suffocating on his own incredulity.

“Good. Windpipe stays open and Billy breathes properly again.“ Army stated satisfied and only then _and_ with a raised eyebrow _and_ a completely unthreatened expression he followed the example of Slutty and raised his hands deliberately slow behind his head.

While Slutty looked already bored to death and actually yawned.

Dimmock lowered his weapon and declared: “I am Detective Inspector Dimmock and arrest you for the reasonable suspicion of assaulting Billy Wiggings and the murder of Pete Campbell. Anything that you say...“ but he got interrupted again.

Slutty blurted: “What? Pete´s dead? Dear God, find his killer than instead of threatening us.“

“Yes. We both find that embarrassing“, Army calmly stated, “since we actually saved Billy´s life. No assault done.“

“You cut Wiggins´ throat with a knife“, Dimmock accused and pointed the gun at Army, “while you helped him“, pointing at Slutty, “and he“, pointing at Billy, “has stabbed Pete Campbell with the knife he holds in his hand.“ Dimmock grinned smugly.

_So, there you have it. Crime solved, suspects arrested._

“You _really_ think Billy stabbed Pete and John tried to murder Billy in return?“ Slutty stared incredulously at the DI. He inhaled deeply and started to rant in rapid-fire mode. “My God, what it´s like in your funny little brain? You´re even more dim than your name suggests. _Can´t you see that the way he holds the knife_ …“

“Both of you shut up NOW!“, Army barked. He glared at Dimmock, “You put away your gun“, and snarled at Slutty, “and you stop insulting the detective.“

“But John“, Slutty whined, “that´s stupid…“

“Sherlock will you just shut the fuck up?“

_So his name is really Sherlock._

Dimmock stared dumbfounded because he realized right then that he had unconsciously followed _John_ ´s order and had put away his gun while _Sherlock_ glared indignantly as if John had just committed lèse-majesty. With him being the majesty, of course.

John himself used the sheepish silence to slowly stand up, followed by Sherlock. The three men were ogling each other while standing awkwardly around Billy´s body whose breath came in wheezing gasps through the hole in his throat.

In this moment the door was opened and Anne barged in.

“DI Dimmock you should come to…Oh Jesus, what happened to Billy?“ She looked frantically from one face to another, settling on Sherlock´s. “Is he dead too?“ She asked in a quavery voice and a small sob escaped her mouth.

Sherlock reassured her in his soothing baritone. “Don´t worry. He´ll be fine, Anne. He suffered an allergic shock and the resulting swelling blocked his windpipe. He would have asphyxiated had Dr. Watson here not performed an emergency tracheotomy on him.“

John chimed in: “Anne, please go and lead the paramedics here. Billy has to be brought to the A&E immediately.“

“You did _what_ exactly?“ Dimmock adressed John while Anne went away.

“I opened his airway with this penknife to bypass the swelling and that let him breathe properly again.“ John explained. Sherlock rolled his eyes. It was even more theatrical than before.

Dimmock felt more and more insecure about the whole situation so he stalled: “Okayyy. But you are still both under arrest for suspected assault and abetment.“

“This is utterly ridiculous. Why would you still arrest us?“ Sherlock´s voice dripped with contempt and annoyance.

John sighed as he adressed Sherlock in an attempt to calm down the irritated man: “You seemingly helped me slitting Billy´s throat. Of course he has to arrest us at least to take our statements. He´s simply doing his job.“

DI Dimmock nearly thanked him for this explanation but bit his tongue in the last second.

“Pft. It´s _obvious_ we saved his life after _Billy_ _drank the MDMA cocktail_ _which someone had put in his glass due to the way the little paper umbrella is…“_

John quickly interrupted the oncoming deduction-rant again: “Well obviously it´s not obvious to him!“

Sherlock whined: “But that´s just what I say. He´s a moron! He can´t even see _that the way Billy holds the knife is definitely not…“_

“Just once in your life shut your mouth. Do you really have to insult a DI of the Homicide Devision? NO!“, John held up his index finger to stop Sherlock who had already opened his mouth in an attempt to contradict him. Sherlock snapped his mouth shut with a loud plopping noise, his face contorted in a petulant expression and he started an epic sulk.

DI Dimmock really felt like dropping out of reality into a parallel universe. These two punks were so utterly beyond normal. At least the throat-slitter was able to reign in the bitchy bastard.

Right then the door was shoved open and two paramedics marched in. They went straight to Wiggins and knelt down beside him. John instantly explained what had happened (spiked drink, MDMA allergy, swelling, asphyxiation, tracheotomy) in such a professional and confident medical way that he actually had to be a doctor.

After the still unconscious Wiggins was laid on a stretcher and wheeled away Dimmock regained his ability to speak. “So you are a real medical doctor?“

“Yes, erm, Dr. John Watson. I work as a trauma surgeon in the A&E at Bart´s hospital.“

“Um, right“, Dimmock grumbled before he looked at Sherlock, “and who are you?“

Sherlock had folded his arms in front of his chest and kept glaring offended. He huffed but remained silent and his whole posture conveyed indignancy. Since he had not been allowed to speak up earlier he would definitely not now. John had even prohibited him stating his brilliant deductions…four times! Thinking about that he even had permitted John. John had definitely too much power over him. That had to be rectified immediately. _Noone_ was going to tell him when to talk.

Sherlock suddenly felt a sharp pain at his leg. He focused his gaze and saw that John had raised an eyebrow and had strongly kicked Sherlock on the shin while making a prompting gesture with his head.

“Dr. Sherlock Holmes. Heart surgeon at Bart´s.“ He reluctantly spat out through gritted teeth and shot a death glare at John.

“Fuck, no way!“, Dimmock laughed.

The DI took in the sight of the man who claimed to be a another respectable doctor. The gutterpunk who was standing imperiously before him was _filthy_. A all in all ragged appearance, milky white stains on the front of his tattered trousers.

_God is this what I think it is?_

Smudged paint and black eyeliner blemishing a pierced face. A naked torso under a tacky fishnet shirt, pierced nipple, sweaty hair, lovebites on his throat, ratty leather jacket.

“You want to make me believe that _you_ are a heart surgeon? I´m not stupid. You look like a gay punk rent-boy who just had sex in a back alley.“

Sherlock look dumbfounded at the DI. He blinked rapidly and frowned in confusion.

“I am gay. I am a punk. I just had sex in a back alley. Are you jealous? I still don´t see your point. What does this have to do with my profession?“

John broke out into giggles. “Sherlock“, he explained, “I told you before that you look a mess. Like scum. It´s just hard for the DI to see a decent, well-educated surgeon in you.“

Dimmock managed again to refrain from thanking Dr. Watson for translating to the tall obnoxious man.

Sherlock snorted: “I _still_ don´t see his point. Looks obviously deceive. Like he“, he pointed to the DI, “for example looks marginally intelligent but is obviously just hiding an empty nutshell in his skull. He´s so biassed in his stupid homophobic and punk prejudices he wouldn´t recognise anything or anyone anytime _at all_.“

“You seriously claim to be a heart surgeon?“

“I don´t claim, I am. Why should I claim to be anybody else but me? I don´t want to be anybody else. Who would voluntarily claim to be me in the first place if it is not myself?“

Dimmock had enough. He took out his handcuffs and caught the rambling punk by surprise. The cuffs closed around the wrists and clicked shut with a lovely satisfying metallic sound.

_That should teach him a lesson. Rude self-important bastard. I´m in charge here._

“Goddamn, be careful with my hands!“, Sherlock exclaimed. Then the fact that he had been apprehended registered in his brain. “NO, NO, NO! You can´t arrest me. I´m due to surgery tomorrow. Vital heart valve replacement.“ He tried to stare Dimmock into submission who would have none of it.

John snorted surprised. “Since when do you lower yourself to do valve transplants? In your ranking system that´s barely a three.“

“Yes, normally. But. The patient is a seven week premature infant. Do you have any idea how delicate her pericard vessels are? It´s a seven. If there will be complications it might very well become a nine.“ A longing undertone crept into Sherlock´s voice and an unholy gleam enlightened his eyes which John thought was better to ignore.

DI Dimmock was standing dumbly in between the two punks looking from one to another with a head movement similar to spectators watching a tennis match. He felt completely out of his league as Holmes started to babble excitedly about hair-raising anatomical difficulties and operating procedures. It was so convincing and genuine. Dimmock internally cringed. Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time.

He resigned and decided to merely wait and let the dialogue or rather diatribe play out. They would not heed his presence anyway and Dimmock was happy and relieved that so far noone of his coworkers had witnessed their embarrassing underwhelmed-ness of his authority. When after seemingly endless minutes Holmes had to succumb to the human need to take a breath Dimmock quickly interrupted.

“OK. You are a heart surgeon.“

Sherlock sniffed. “I am not _a_ heart surgeon. I am _the_ _best_ of England.“

Dimmock laughed manically. “Right… what else.“

Sometime while the two doctor-punks had still been engaged in their medical powerplay two of Dimmock´s police officers had entered, unnoticed by the arguing men. The DI jumped to the occasion to gain the upper hand.

He commanded: “Take these suspects into custody. Put them in a holding cell at the station. They will wait for further interrogation“, and relished the shocked expression in Holmes´ face as he quickly turned on his heels and barely supressed his instinct to run from the place.

_Thank God, Peters and Hodgins arrived. Late enough to have missed the complete ignorance of myself and just in time to hand the punks over into their custody. Let them be their problem for a while. Good riddance! Maybe the cuffs will cool this acerbic temper of Holmes´! Three cheers for sweet revenge!_

John and Sherlock were unceremoniously dumped in a holding cell at the police station. A miserable bunk bed with thin mattresses, a wash basin and a toilet was all the furniture there was. The door slammed shut behind them with a hollow bumping noise.

Sherlock´s sour expression abruptly lit up. It was like a ray of sun bursting through heavy rainclouds. He suddenly brimmed with energy, his whole body tensed in excitement as he crowded into John´s space and pressed himself flush against the smaller man.

“Finally! Now we are all alone. Do you have an idea what we could do to pass the time?“ He murmered in this deep sultry voice of his into John´s ear.

“You think it will take them long to fetch us?“ John was not sure if he would be willing the risk of getting caught in the act. There was only so much thrill in public sex…

“I overheard Dimmock telling his minions to let us stew in here at least for one hour.“ Sherlock nibbled at John´s ear.

“I wonder whose fault would that be?“, John griped.

“While waiting for their stupid forensics we could do something productive.“ Sherlock proposed and let his deep sensual purr vibrate against John´s throat. Which sent delicious prickling waves of arousal right down into his cock.

“What kind of production are you thinking of?“ John asked and worked an extremely innocent look upon his face.

“We could work on producing lots of biological fluids.“

“Is that so?“, John deadpanned, “What do you mean by that?“ He really enjoyed playing dumb and keeping Sherlock in the needy state which he could feel pressing strongly against his own hard midsection.

“Come on, John. Don´t act so recalcitrant!“ Sherlock complained and a small whiny sound crept into his posh self-confident baritone.

John felt Sherlock´s cock twitching warmly against him. He had to put all his strength together to not simply pounce on this heavenly delectable smelling and hellishly gorgeous looking man right in front of him. But he managed even if his teasing of the obviously already hard heart surgeon (and wasn´t that a great phrase?) got him so _fucking horny_ himself.

“What do you want, my hard surgeon?“, he asked and broke out into a laughing fit thinking about his pun which became worse as he saw Sherlock´s confused expression.

“John?“

He laughed even more. Couldn´t help it.

“John! I don´t understand!“

Tears started running down John´s cheeks.

“Fine. Forget it.“ Sherlock stepped back from John and started to turn away. He felt strangely rebuffed and was surprised at how much that feeling hurt him inside.

As John saw the vulnerable and lost look which stole into Sherlock´s eyes he immediately sobered and regretted his teasing.

“I´m sorry, Sherlock. I love you! I want you. It´s just, your face…“

Sherlock snorted exasperatedly and decided to stop with the innuendo and try a direct approach instead. “John, I want to suck you off!“

John´s breath hitched as he thought about that.

“No.“

“What?“ Sherlock looked upset.

“No. _I_ want to suck _you_ off.“ John clarified and unconsciously licked his lips in anticipation.

“No!“

“What?“

“I asked first. I suck first!“, Sherlock grinned lewdly.

“Well I want to be first, too.“ John straightened his posture into a soldier-like stance and thrust his chin out.

Sherlock looked positively rebellious.

John loved the tiny dimples that formed at his wrinkled nose. “This is childish. We can´t both suck.“

“Oh. OH! John, you´re a true conductor of light!“, Sherlock exclaimed in an epiphany, “in fact we _can_ both suck!“

“Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?“

“You´re a doctor, use your imagination.“

“I don´t have to“, John raised an eyebrow in a suggestive way, “you´ll tell me.“ He wanted to hear Sherlock spell it out. A wave of heat settled in his groin which throbbed painfully.

An eyebrow raised dramatically. “Will I?“

“Doctor´s orders.“

Sherlock enjoyed this tremendously. “Let me think…nnnnope!“

“ _Captain_ ´s orders then.“ John easily fell into his command voice.

It worked magic on Sherlock who visually shivered while he replied in a slightly shaky voice but tried to keep cool. “Ah John! Have you ever heard of that great finnish band? It´s called the 69Eyes…“ and then he pointily shoved one of the thin mattresses onto the ground.

“I don´t know if should be afraid now.“

“So, are you up to it?“, Sherlock pulled a derisive face, “Or are you too old to explore new…areas?“

“I´ll show you old, you wanker.“ John said sternly.

“If you don´t get on with it quickly I´d might as well wank.“ Sherlock threatened.

“And I might just watch you wanking.“ John deadpanned.

“You´re cruel, John.“

“Watching you is nice.“

“You´ll be the death of me.“ Sherlock whined.

“Oh. Well, can´t risk that now, can I?“

“It´s against your doctor´s oath. You swore to help with all _predicaments_.“ He grinned smugly and looked down at his tented trousers.

John pressed his hand over Sherlock´s erection which resulted in a delighted hum. “I see. It´s really _invidious_.“ He grinned as well now.

“Disrobe, doctor Watson“, Sherlock demanded, his voice husky and full of sensual desire.

John felt himself complying without even thinking about it. His whole body already vibrated with anticipation. He had no idea how a 69er would turn out but he (and his cock) was definitely eager to explore unknown country.

“Do the same, doctor Holmes.“ John used his Captain voice again because he knew how that got right into Sherlock´s brain stem, causing all kinds of electrical short-circuits there.

Sherlock moaned as he shoved his trousers down, let his combat boots fly away into a corner of the holding cell and pulled the fishnet shirt over his head with trembling hands so desperate to get rid of it that he nearly ripped off his pierced ear.

John himself was also busy with discarding the infuriatingly recalcitrant clothes. Sweat was pooling around his groin and his bone-hard cock weeped already.

Soon both men were standing naked in front of each other, their mutual arousal in plain sight under the stark neon lights. Their swollen leaking cocks rose high in front of their bellies. They looked at each other appreciantingly, seeing their lover fully in the flesh for the first time. They breathed in the sight of perfection they found in the other one respectively.

On one side long lithe limbs, pale like marble but with a reddish flush spreading over the sensitive areas. Lusciuos dark curls framing an angel-like delicately boned face with the most astonishing beautiful and mesmerizing eyes on Earth.

On the other side the compact body of an ex-soldier, chiselled muscles moving under golden tanned skin. Hidden force with the promise to explode into action every time when needed. Short mussed dark blonde hair that contrasted stunningly with eyes so deeply blue like the fathomless ocean.

Sherlock tentatively reached out his hand to brush violin-calloused fingertips over John´s starfish-shaped scar on the shoulder. John stood proudly, not shying away. The skin felt rough and rigid there and Sherlock leant in to lick his smooth tongue over the true mark of a survivor.

John groaned and his breath quickened. He arched his back and slowly made prickling contact with his groin against Sherlock´s. The taller man puffed warm breaths against his shoulder and sighed blissfully.

They stepped onto the mattress and then John suddenly pulled Sherlock into a tight embrace and scraped his teeth over the protuding collarbone he found. The skin tasted of fresh sweat, salty and musky and utterly _Sherlock_.

Sherlock reponded by burying his nose in John´s hair, inhaling the intoxicating scent. His cock was pressing painfully hard against their bellies and he felt more pressure building up.

“John“, he moaned and urged, “we should get to it or I´ll come right away.“

“God, yes!“

They knelt down, still holding each other tight and John plundered Sherlock´s mouth with his tongue, relishing the guttural animalistic sounds that he brought forth. He felt Sherlock´s heart beating frantically against his chest and warm fluid slowly trickled down towards his thigh. He could not discern if it was his or Sherlock´s but suddenly he could not wait any longer to taste the pulsing cock of the other man.

Sherlock felt what John was about to do so he let him go and lay down on his right side with his head to the door. John followed and faced the other way. Now both had the flushed and dripping manhood of the other right before their mouths. Both felt saliva rising. The scent from the aroused cocks was exhilarating. Sherlock grunted and swallowed and licked his tongue over John´s glans, caressing it with slow circular movements. The cock throbbed and tasted divine.

John opened his mouth and closed his plush lips around Sherlock´s shaft and softly let his teeth press against the blood-filled veins. Sherlock moaned, put his mouth around John and the rumbling vibrations stimulated John´s cock even more. Waves of pleasure surged through his body. John felt his balls constricting and took more of Sherlock into his mouth and started to suck while rubbing his tongue at the glans.

Sherlock, the cunning bastard, started to mirror John´s movements. When John sucked or licked or squeezed, he did too. They simultainously moved their lips up and down their shafts. Sherlock even made the same lenghthy moans and hoarse grunts as John. The clever son of a bitch gave the term lip-syncing a completely new meaning. An exciting thrilling arousing _oh-my-god-this-is-so-damn-sexy_ meaning.

It took them only several minutes before the mutual oncoming orgasms were apparant. They came at the same time in each other´s mouths, hot and salty and copious amounts of cum, so much that they could only swallow a bit while the rest spilled over and dripped down their chins and ran sluggishly along their necks to finally trickle onto the mattress.

Sherlock panted heavily and let the aftershocks wash through him while he buried his face in John´s groin. It was hot and humid there and sticky with cum and he really did not mind if any of it got into his curls.

John shivered strongly at the sensation of Sherlock´s breaths against his dwindling erection and started to lick up Sherlock´s spilled cum wherever possible. He wanted to swallow all of it and not waste a single drop of this… _ambrosia_.

They remained naked and sweaty and sort of stuck together for a while and were floating blissfully in a coccoon of love, devotion and affection. It was heaven. Perfection.

Thank God they had enough time, a wash basin and a towel they could use to clean themselves up. They spend the reminder of the time lying spooned against each other in the bunk bed before the door opened again.

Dimmock let them out of the cell two hours later telling them that Wiggins had regained consciousness and made a statement. Sherlock finally got the chance to shoot off his deductions about the case. They matched a lot of what the police had (surprisingly correct in Sherlock´s opinion) found out in the meantime.

Pete Campbell the long-term bartender in “The Misfit“ had watched a guy dealing drugs in the club some years ago and had instantly reported the man to Billy Wiggins. The owner had called the police after making a fake deal to ensure that the culprit would come back the next day. Reginald “Reg“ Smith got caught, was arrested, convicted and went to prison for drug trafficking.

Reg had been released one week ago and sought revenge. He fitted Danny´s discription of the man searching for Pete this night. He had lured Campbell whom he perceived as a traitor into the storeroom, stabbed him and left him dying. Afterwards he spiked Billy´s cocktail with ecstasy to make him look like an addict, had hit him on the head and pushed the murder weapon into his hand. Reg left the pills beside him supposing that Wiggins also sold drugs.

In a feeble attempt to make the head wound look like Billy hit his brow on the desk when falling down in a drug haze Reg amateurishly had smeared some blood onto the edge. The spray pattern of course had been all wrong, as well as the shape of head wound itself.

What Reg did not know was that Billy had a rare allergy to MDMA which caused his airway to become obstructed so that he nearly asphyxiated. Billy was not meant to die, he should have been the scapegoat for Pete´s murder, unable to remember anything due to the massive drug dose and should have went to prison as a dealer and murderer.

Sherlock could also effortlessly tell the police how “that brainless berk“ would be trying to leave the country in another amazing deduction based solely on the origin of the murder weapon.

“Simple. Dull. Predictable.“ Sherlock groused.

The open-mouthed staring he received on the part of DI Dimmock, three officers and of course John greatly appeased the aggravated surgeon for having been prohibited to show off his brilliance several times before.

The scant reminder of the night went by in a haze. John and Sherlock were released, hailed a cab back to Baker Street and collapsed fully clothed onto the large double bed and instantly fell asleep.

The following morning Sherlock performed his surgery on the premature infant in record time. There were no complications but somehow he could not mourn the fact because he was able to see John two hours earlier then planned, taking him by surprise and drag the cursing doctor into a thankfully lockable storeroom in the hospital´s basement.

One day later Reginald Smith was arrested as he tried to leave the country via a small private plane from the little countryside airport just as Sherlock had predicted.

Two days later a parcel arrived for John. Inside he found a card saying “Thank you for saving me. You´ve got lifelong free entry to the club. Come often and wear the jacket. Only actual used leather is cool. It will make Sherlock randy as fuck. IOU, Billy“. There also was a beautiful new heavily studded black leather jacket. The smiley logo patch of “You should see the other one“ was stitched onto the back.

Three days later John moved into 221b Baker Street. He did not really need the second bedroom upstairs but discarded the five dried guinea pig gall bladders he found laying forgotton on the duvet anyway. Sherlock sulked for two hours.

Three weeks later Billy asked John to be the on-location emergency doctor at this year´s two-day open air concert “The Misfit“ would organize. John agreed happily. Sherlock beamed. These would probably become _Danger Days_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it´s done! 
> 
> Sorry for letting you wait for this final chapter. It was getting longer and longer again and I really did not want to split it again like the supposed final chapter four before. Would have been sort of embarrassing…anyway here is the end. For a sequel which I primarily reckoned to be about 10k words I was definitely wrong.
> 
> Sherlock would have a feast deducing the reasons for that…
> 
> Thank you all for staying with me and reading. Thank you all for the kudos and comments on this series. You all make me very happy.
> 
> “Three cheers for sweet revenge“ is just another reference to one of my favourite and recently reunited (YES!) bands: My Chemical Romance. It´s the name of their second studio album.  
> I forgot to mention the reference in chapter one where Sherlock is scared of teenagers. It´s a line of MCR´s song “Teenagers“ which says “Teenagers scare the living shit out of me“. So just that you know.  
> I could not resist to smuggle in another one: “Danger Days“ is the (shortened) name of MCR´s fourth studio album.
> 
> The 69Eyes is an actual finnish band and has been around since 1990. Great music as well.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is borrowed from the lyrics of Na Na Na by My Chemical Romance
> 
> please feel free to comment if you liked it or not to help me become a better writer
> 
> have fun and thank you for reading!


End file.
